


Strike 11

by lemonsandviolets



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Belts, Blood Kink, Daddy Kink, Hand Jobs, Humiliation, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Whipping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-26
Updated: 2018-06-26
Packaged: 2019-05-28 19:42:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15056378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lemonsandviolets/pseuds/lemonsandviolets
Summary: Sicheng gets a little too cuddly with Taeyong, and Yuta doesn't like it.





	Strike 11

**Author's Note:**

> And so this is how I enter the world of writing fanfic. I really, really don't recommend reading this if you've had traumatic experiences with a belt as punishment.  
> (also ik it's super short i wrote this in two hours in the middle of the night)
> 
> Anyways, please comment! As a new writer, I'd love advice:)

Yuta is on him the minute they enter the door, gripping Sicheng roughly by the neck and steering him toward the bedroom. 

 

“Yuta, I’m sorry, I know what I did wrong, just...please,” Sicheng pleads as soon as Yuta releases him. He sinks to his knees and looks up at Yuta with a truly repenting gaze. “I’ll do anything to make it up to you,” he says, the implications clear in his voice. 

Yuta curls his lip in disgust and bites his next words through his teeth. “Stand up.” 

Sicheng, does, slowly, and lowers his head in shame. 

“What did you do?” Yuta says, as calmly as he can.

“I was cuddling with Taeyong,” Sicheng replies, quietly, with just a hint of fear trembling in his voice. 

Anger flashes across Yuta’s face, then is replaced with a dangerously fake smile. “That’s right.” 

They stand in silence, until Sicheng breaks.

“I’m sorry, Daddy, I really didn’t mean to--” 

Yuta’s temper breaks and he’s on Sicheng in a second, pinning him to the wall by his neck. Sicheng is so frightened he’s whimpering, tears welling up in his eyes from how hard Yuta’s grip is. 

“Don’t,” Yuta nearly growls, poisonous anger seething in his tone, “don’t you dare call me that tonight. You don’t deserve to call me that after what you did.” 

Sicheng nods as best he can with Yuta’s hand around his throat, and Yuta releases him and steps back to sit on the bed. He looks at the slender boy, still glued to the wall and shaking ever so slightly, and feels himself harden in his jeans in anticipation of what he’s about to do to him. 

 

“Strip,” Yuta says calmly, “quickly.” 

Sicheng doesn’t hesitate, fingers moving deftly across buttons and zippers, until he’s standing naked in front of Yuta, who motions him closer with a finger. Yuta smirks to himself when he sees that Sicheng is already half-hard from just obeying him. He looks up at the boy, naked and vulnerable, raises a hand, and flicks his small cock. Sicheng flinches and whimpers. Yuta wraps his hand around Sicheng and strokes, slowly and gently, getting Sicheng hard and leaking, moaning every time Yuta touches a sensitive spot. He edges him, drowning him in pleasure...just enough to forget. 

“Ah, Daddy, please--” Sicheng moans when Yuta denies him his orgasm a fourth time, and his eyes immediately snap open once he realizes what he’s said. He looks down at Yuta, paling in horror. “No--no, no, no--I’m sorry, I forgot, I won’t say it again.” 

Yuta just stares at him coldly for a moment, and then says, quietly, “Go stand on your wall.”

And  _ there it is _ . The only sick, twisted feeling that can make Yuta truly shiver with arousal; the moment he sees pure fear and dread fill Sicheng’s now tear-filled eyes. 

“Please, no, you don’t have to do this, I’ll be good next time, I promise--” 

“Sicheng, if I have to repeat myself…”

With a last look of desperation, Sicheng walks to the wall like a man walking to his death, and positions himself facing it, hands above his head and legs spread shoulder-width. From the bed, Yuta can see his whole body tense and trembling in fear, and it arouses him to no end. 

 

Yuta gets up and walks slowly, never taking his eyes off of Sicheng. He stops behind him and trails his finger down the back of his neck, tracing his spine and stopping at his lower back. He caresses the smooth, unmarked canvas of Sicheng’s back, feeling how the muscles flex and tremble under his touch. He steps back, still savoring the innocence and beauty of Sicheng’s body, as he unbuckles his belt and whips it out of the loops, relishing the way Sicheng flinches at the snap. He wraps the leather around his hand once, and strikes the middle of Sicheng’s back with the strap end, not hard, but certainly not painless either; it creates a noticeable red mark. Sicheng whimpers, and Yuta sees a tear make its way down his cheek. 

He’s not as gentle with the second one; he puts some effort into it and Sicheng cries out and jolts. This mark arranges itself elegantly across the first one, and Yuta sees that it almost broke skin. 

The third time he strikes, it does, and Sicheng sobs and twists his body away in agony, marring the natural path the blood makes as it drips down from the wound. The sight makes Yuta’s cock throb, and a heady wave of arousal rushes through him. 

Strike four is no harder than three, but it cuts across the previous wound, and Sicheng sobs in pain at the same time his knees threaten to buckle, clawing desperately at the wall in front of him; he knows that if he falls, he doubles the consequences.

Yuta watches him in amusement as he struggles, and eventually succeeds, heaving ragged, sobbing breaths as he stands there, waiting for another strike. 

 

After that, Sicheng does remarkably well, and Yuta is impossibly hard. Every strike, every cry of pain, every new cut that drips blood down Sicheng’s once-perfect body sends a new wave of arousal through him, bringing him closer and closer to his climax. He can feel that his underwear is sticky and damp with precome, and his breaths are nearly as desperate and ragged as Sicheng’s. He stops for a moment, and counts the scars on Sicheng’s back. Ten. It felt like more. He’s so close. He just needs something. Something a little more. He looks down, from his hand gripping the belt so hard his knuckles are white, to his straining erection, and back to his hand. He smiles. 

 

Yuta looks back at Sicheng, who obviously has been counting and thinks that it’s over. His body is shaking, bleeding, wrecked, but more relaxed than it was before. Perfect, Yuta thinks, as he grips the bloody end of the belt and swings the buckle end across Sicheng’s back with as much strength as he can muster in his weakened state. 

Sicheng screams, a scream of true agony as the metal bites through his flesh and clatters on the ground, bloody and gleaming. He collapses, a sobbing, bleeding mess on the floor, and Yuta drops the belt and staggers backwards, supporting himself on the bedpost as the most intense wave of arousal yet slams through him. He grips himself through his jeans and jerks his hips upward, one, two, three times as he witnesses the beautiful sight in front of him, and he comes harder than he ever has with a moan that appears to be a cruel contrast to the sobs of pain coming from Sicheng. 

 

When Yuta comes down from his high, he walks over to Sicheng, who is now crying and shaking uncontrollably on the floor in a puddle of blood, sweat, and tears, and sits down beside him. “Sicheng,” he says gently. Sicheng is still sobbing, so Yuta cups his face in his hand and turns it toward him and wipes away the tears, only for them to be replaced by new ones. 

When he doesn’t get a response, he helps Sicheng stand up as gently as he can and steers him to the bed, where he guides Sicheng to sit down. He places himself in front of him, and strokes his face gently. “It’s okay,” he murmurs. “It’s okay.” 

Sicheng is still sobbing, although less hysterically. Yuta glides a hand up Sicheng’s thigh and whispers in his ear, “Do you want me to make it better?”

Sicheng makes a pitiful noise in the back of his throat and curls up tighter. Yuta knows what that means. “Do you want Daddy to make it better?” he amends. Sicheng looks up at him with teary eyes and trembling lips, nods shakily, and then crawls onto his lap, wrapping his arms around his shoulders and wincing with pain at every movement. Yuta slips a hand between them and starts stroking him, while the other caresses his upper thigh reassuringly. “Such a good boy,” he murmurs in Sicheng’s ear. “You’ve learned your lesson, and now you’ll do better next time, isn’t that right?” Sicheng nods vehemently over his shoulder and moans when Yuta swipes over his sensitive tip. He keeps whispering praises and stroking him, softly and gently, just like he did earlier, but this time when Sicheng reaches his climax, he lets him spill over his hand and onto his shirt as he moans ‘Daddy’ over and over again into Yuta’s ear.


End file.
